


Accident

by icandrawamoth



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends: X-Wing Series - Aaron Allston & Michael Stackpole
Genre: Accidents, Angst, Character Death, Crying, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Heavy Angst, Phone Calls & Telephones, Shock, Vomiting, could easily be read as Wes/Hobbie
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-28
Updated: 2018-07-28
Packaged: 2019-06-17 11:45:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,095
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15460668
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/icandrawamoth/pseuds/icandrawamoth
Summary: Hobbie interrupts him, but Wedge can't make out the garbled words. For a few seconds, he thinks it's some kind of interference, then coldness settles into his gut when he realizes, no, that's just his friend's voice. Hobbie is crying harshly, screaming almost – he sounds more wrecked than Wedge has ever heard another person.“Hobbie, I can't understand what you're saying,” Wedge says, trying to force calm though he can hear the tremor in his own words. “What's going on?”





	Accident

**Author's Note:**

> I drove by a really bad accident on my way home from work and ended up getting all existential about how people are just going along with their lives, then they're suddenly gone, and since I deal with literally everything through fic...here ya go.

Wedge is sitting at his desk signing off on requisition forms Tycho has sent over when his comlink beeps with a subspace radio call. He's momentarily surprised, but then he sees the name on the display and smiles.

“Hobbie,” he answers cheerfully, “what's so important you-”

Hobbie interrupts him, but Wedge can't make out the garbled words. For a few seconds, he thinks it's some kind of interference, then coldness settles into his gut when he realizes, no, that's just his friend's voice. Hobbie is crying harshly, screaming almost – he sounds more wrecked than Wedge has ever heard another person.

“Hobbie, I can't understand what you're saying,” Wedge says, trying to force calm though he can hear the tremor in his own words. “What's going on?”

Another sob from Hobbie and then he manages to choke out, the words just barely intelligible, “ _Wes is dead. Gods, Wedge, I don't know what to do! He was never supposed to- this was never- He's dead! Oh gods!_ ”

Wedge feels the floor drop out from under him, sudden grief like a punch to the gut. Even so, there's denial. Wes and Hobbie and their training squadron aren't anywhere near an active engagement zone. There's no way they should have ended up in a battle. “What happened?” he asks numbly.

Hobbie gulps audibly, struggling to control himself and failing. “ _It was an accident,_ ” he cries. “ _He was helping unload a shipment of fuel and- and one of the barrels slipped. He couldn't get out of the way. It was just an accident._ ” He dissolves into wordless grief again.

Wedge closes his eyes, pressing a hand over his mouth. He feels sick. In their line of work, death is always sudden, but it's not supposed to happen like this.

“ _Wedge?_ ” Hobbie demands, voice shaking. “ _What am I supposed to do?_ ”

“I don't know, Hobbie,” Wedge says automatically. He tries for gentleness, for comfort, isn't sure he can get there. “I'm sorry. I'm – I'm so sorry.” His instinct if to ask is Hobbie is okay, but how foolish is that? Wedge wonders if he saw the accident happen and sends up a prayer to the Force that he didn't.

Then Wedge's brain unfreezes a little, sends him a single useful thought, and his hands move almost of their own accord, dancing across the keys of his computer console as he holds the comlink on his shoulder.

“Hobbie?” he says. “Are you still with me?”

He gets little more than a sniffle, then a moment later, the sound of gagging, of vomit landing in some kind of container, and winces.

“Hobbie, dear heart, you have to try and calm down, okay? I know it's hard, but making yourself sick isn't helping.”

“ _Wedge-_ ” Hobbie whimpers, tone desperate, pleading.

“I'm sorry,” Wedge whispers again. “I can't even imagine what you're going through.”

“ _You're his friend, too. How are you so calm?_ ” Hobbie's words are more disbelieving than angry.

 _I have to be, for you,_ Wedge thinks, but what he says is, “Shock.” He meant to add more, but suddenly his lip is quivering too violently.

“ _Wedge,_ ” Hobbie says again, like just his name is the only lifeline he has to cling to. “ _Please. If you can – I can't – I can't be alone here. Please._ ”

“I'm filing flight plans as we speak,” Wedge tells him, grateful to be able to finally give him _something_. “Tycho and I will on your base by this time tomorrow.”

Hobbie lets out a broken little sound. “ _I should call him, too._ ”

“Let me.” The response comes without thought, and Wedge winces but won't take it back. He has no desire to see the revelation on Tycho's face, but he can save Hobbie the pain of having to deliver the news twice.

“ _Thank you, Wedge._ ”

“Of course.”

There's silence then, broken only by Hobbie's distress, though it's gone down to mere sniffles and whimpers now. Wedge knows what he feels inside hasn't changed at all.

“I'll need to disconnect with you if I'm going to talk to him,” Wedge says gently.

Hobbie lets out a shaky breath. “ _I understand._ ”

“I wish it wouldn't take us so long to get to you,” Wedge tells him. _I wish was I by your side right now. I wish I could hug you and we could cry together. I wish I could take away your pain._

“ _I'll be waiting,_ ” is all Hobbie says, so softly. “ _I'll go now._ ”

“I'll talk to you soon, Hobbs. Hang in there, okay?”

There's nothing more as the call disconnects. Wedge lets his comlink fall to the desk and leans forward, burying his face in his hands. Images swirl in front of his eyes, so very clear. Wes Janson, his brown eyes always sparkling with mischief. His bright smile. Forever ready with whatever his friends needed, whether that be a joke or a sympathetic ear or a few mugs of lomin-ale.

Wedge is never going to see any of that again. He's never going to see the man who's been one of his closet friends for so many years again.

And the fact that it was a simple accident... It screams wrongness, his brain wanting to reject the fact outright. If he had to die, Wes should have gone down doing what he loved, what he dedicated his life to – in a fight for the New Republic, be it in a ground battle or in his X-wing, it doesn't matter. He should have been able to look his killer in the eye and fight back.

But a simple unloading accident. It would be laughable if it weren't so devastating.

Wedge takes a deep breath and makes himself sit up straight again. Remarkably, his face is still dry, though he knows that will change later. He picks up his comlink again, keys in a text-only message for Tycho to come to his office immediately.

It only takes a few minutes for him to show, walking in the door like there's nothing wrong in the world, already asking, “Did you have a question about the forms? I-” And then he catches sight of Wedge's face and pauses. “Wedge?”

He knows Wedge well enough to know something is very wrong. Wedge can see the caution, bordering on actual fear, in his eyes.

“No, it's not about the forms.” Wedge's voice is too stiff, too emotionless. “You need to sit down.”

Tycho drops immediately into a chair, like his legs have been cut from under him. His expression breaks, some of the fear crawling across it. “What's going on, Wedge?”

Wedge tells him.


End file.
